Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1887-07-15
THE CURE OF CUCUGNAN


cial poets published in Avignon a gay lit
tie book flied up to the brim with beauti-
full verses and pretty stories. That of this
year has just reached me, and 1 find it a
delightful little tale that 1 am going to
try and transcribe for you by abridging it
little. Parisians, hold out your baskets.
1t is with the finest provincial meal flour
that you are going to be served this time.
The Abbot Martin was cure of Cucug-
nan. Excellent as bread, sterling as
gold, he loved his Cucugnanards with
paternal devotion; for him his Cucugnan
would have been q paradise upon earth, if
only the Cucugnanards had given him a
little more satisfaction. But, alas! spiders
spun their webs in his confessional, and,
on fair yesterday, the holy waters lay
untouched in the pyX. The good priest
was heartbroken about it, and was always
asking grace of God that he might not die
until he had led back to the fold his scat
tered flock
Now, you shall hear how his prayer
was heard. One Sunday, after the gospel,
NJ. Martin assembled the pulpit.
My brethren, said he, "believe me or
not, as you will; the other night I found
myself, miserable sinner that am, at the
gate of paradise.
81 knocked; st. Peter opened to me.
Aha! Is it you, my good M. MARTINI
said he to me. what good wind blows
you hither? What can do for your
" Good St Peter, you who hold the
great book and the key, could you tell me
If | am not too curious-how many Gu
cugnanards you have in paradise?'
G I can refuse nothing to you, NJ. Mar
tin; sit down, and let us look into the
matter together
"And ST. Peter took up his great book,
opened it, and put on his spectacles.
:" Let JUS see; Cucugnan, did you says
Cu-Cu-Cucugnan. All! here we are.
Cucugnan. Why, my dear NJ Martin,
the page.is a perfect blank. Not a soul
upon it. There are no more Cucugnan-
ards here than there are fishbones in a
turkey hen.'
"'What! No one here from Cucugnan?
Not one? 1t is imposiblel Look again,
please
Not one, holy sir Look for yourself,
if you think am joking
"'Woe is me!' l stamped my feet, and
with clasped hands cried for pity.
Then said st. Peter: Really, M. Mar
tin, you must not distress yourself in this
fashion, OR you will bring on serious fit
VI ttpOplC-AJ. fAluCl dill IL 10 uOU YOUR
fault Your Cucugnanards, do you see,
are surely undergoing little quarantine
in purgatory.'
"'Ah, in the name of charity, mighty
st. Peter, enable me at least to see them,
to see and to console theE1r
Willingly, my friend. Stay! Whip
on these shoes, the roads are not over
good. There, that will do nicely. Now
walk away, walk away straight before
you. Do you see yonder, down there at
the turning? You will find there silver
door studded all over with black crosses
to the right hand side. You will knock
and they will open to you. Tata! Take
care of yourself and keep up your spirits.
"And walked and walked on and on
What hunt it was! I feel all goose flesh
only to think of it. A little footpath full
of brambles, blazing carbuncles and hiss
ing serpents led me to the silver door.
s'Tap! Tap!
"'Who knocks?' called out to me a
hoarse and mournful voice.
"'The cure of Cucugnan.'
"sOf?-
"'Of Cucugnan'
"'Ah! Come in
81 entered A grand angel, with wings
as somber as night, clad in robe as bril-
liant as day, with diamond key hanging
from his girdle, was writing-scratch,
scratch-in huge book, much larger than
that of St. Peter.
"'Now, then; what is it you want?' OBJ
served the angel
"'Beautiful angel of God, wish to
KNOW am very curious, perhaps-if you
have here the Cucugnanards?'
g HThe -?'
"sThe Cucugnanards-the people of
Cucugnan; because it is who am their
prior
"'Ah! The Abbot Martin, is it not?'
"'At your service, M. Angel
"'You said Cucugnan, didn't you?'
And the angel opened his book and ran
through the pages, wetting his finger in
order to better turn over the leaves.
'Cucugnan,' said he, as he heaved a
deep sigh. M. Martin, we have in pur-
gatory no one from Cucugnan.'
"'Jesu! Marie! Joseph no one from
Cucugnan in purgatory: Oh, great Godl
where are they then?'
"'Eh! holy man, why they are in para
disc! Where the deuce else would you
have them ba2'
" But come from it-from paradise
"'You come from it! Well?'
w tll' Lucy ttlO llOU CuC1S! ALL
blessed mother Of angels!'
"'What would you have, M. Cure? If
they are neither in paradise nor yet in
purgatory there is no other alternative
they are in
"tHoly cross Jesu, son of David! Woe,
woe, wool is it possible! Could it be a
falsehood of the great st. Peter9 Yet I
did not hear the cock crow! Woe is ME!
How could go to paradise if my Cucug-
nanards were not there, too?'
"'Listen to me, my poor NJ. Martin.
Since you wish at any cost to be assured
of all this and to see with your own eyes
how the matter stands, take this footpath
and run along tiff you know how to
run. You will find to the left great
gateway. There they will give you all in
formation. God grant it your
s'And the angel shut the door,
ssIt was long footpath, all paved with
red embers. staggered as if was drunk;
at each step I stumbled; was bathed in
perspiration-every hair on my body had
it's separate drop of swaziland 1 painted
with thirst. But truly-thanks to the
sandals which the good ST. Peter had lent
mel did not burn my feet.
'sWhen 1 bad hobbled along some way
saw to my left hand q door-no. a gate
way-an enormous gateway yawnng
open, like the month of a vast furnace.
OH my children, what a sight! There no
one asked for my name; there was no reg
lister. 1t is in patches, and through the
wide open door, that one enters there. my
brethren; just as on Sunday you go troop
ing into the wine shops.
II sweated great drops, and yet was
benumbed, shivered. My hair stood on
end. 1 smelt the burning of roast
flesh, something like the smell
which spreads about in our Gu
cugnan when Eloy, the blacksmith,
burns the hoof of an old donkey while
shoeing him. was stifed in this stink
ing, burning atmosphere; heard hor-
rible clamor-groanings, yelllngs and